


The Bodyguard

by ScarlettSiren



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Actors, Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - Popstar, Currently Orphaned, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2014-01-28
Packaged: 2018-01-09 15:16:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1147512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarlettSiren/pseuds/ScarlettSiren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester is a former Secret Service agent who has moved on to working in the private sector since being disgraced from his prior position. He's provided security for everyone from the president to archbishops, but if there's one thing he studiously avoids, it's Hollywood celebs. Enter Castiel Milton, arguably the most popular male singer of the hour; he's been topping the charts for years and his recent film debut has people talking about an Oscar nomination. But when it becomes clear that Castiel and his seven-year-old adopted daughter, Anna, are in danger, Dean sets aside his prejudice to take the job. He expected Castiel to be a diva, expected the man to hate him and threaten to fire him at every turn, he expected to find the pop-star to be insufferable, needy and whiny... but what he didn't expect was to fall in love with him.  [AU based on the film 'The Bodyguard']</p><p>**Currently on permanent hiatus, contact me (tumblr: thescarlettfangirl) if you are interested in continuing this work with the content I have in reserve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t know how this hasn’t already been done yet, but I have such a thing for the movie The Bodyguard, and I really wanted to see it as a Destiel AU. So, uh…here you go. Bodyguard!Dean and Pop-Star!Castiel. Please note that since most of Whitney’s songs didn’t fit for Cas (Queen of the Night? Not so much…) I stole some songs from other popular artists of our day and modernized the setting a bit. Just think of it as Cas having written the songs. Credit, of course, goes to their original creators. And another side-note…Cas’ personality will be a bit more like his 2014 endverse self, but there’s no drug use involved in this fic. Oh, and please picture Michael in Young!John Winchester’s vessel.

Dean Winchester has never settled for being second best at anything he did. The first time his former-Marine father put a gun in his hands, he didn’t lay it down until he’d put the entire clip into the red zone of the target. When he started studying martial arts, he trained for hours a day for years and years until he’d earned his black-belt. When he joined the FBI, he didn’t stop clambering for promotions and climbing the ladder until he’d gotten into the Secret Service. And he wasn’t entirely satisfied until he was the man on the President’s right during every formal address.

Except for one.

Dean had taken a week of personal leave to attend his father’s funeral and get his affairs in order when the President had been shot. Thankfully, it hadn’t been fatal, and he made a full recovery. The tabloids went wild, though, when one of his co-workers joked, ‘Dean Winchester is so good at his job, this would-be assassin waited until he had the day off before taking his shot.’

Dean didn’t see it as a compliment. He felt like a failure. And with his name printed in every controversial magazine and mentioned in every article from the New York Times front page to Facebook, he couldn’t return to the Secret Service.

Private contracting it was.

And the pay was good, sure, better than what the government had been offering, but it wasn’t the same. He didn’t feel the kind of pride he had felt serving his country by protecting the figurehead of the United States.

He felt like his father would have been disappointed in him.

He ended his last job with a very happy, if frightened half to death client and an actually, completely dead hitman that had been on his trail. The businessman Dean had been protecting had offered him a full-time gig, but Dean turned it down. He couldn’t possibly get comfortable with a client again, not like he had in the White House. The moment he became a facet of the First Family’s lives, he also became a liability.

He celebrates a job well-done the way he always does; a cold beer and a barbeque. Sam is too busy to come out, but a contact of his has a job for him anyway, so he figures he might as well kill two birds with one stone and have Joshua bring him his next client while he enjoys one of the few days he actually manages to spend at home.

The moment Joshua name-drops the potential client, Dean gives him a definitive “Hell no.”

Joshua, patient as ever, gives Dean an appraising look. “So, you won't protect Castiel Milton, just because he's in show business?”

“I don't do celebrities.” Dean quips back immediately.

“But the biggest money's in show business, Dean.”

Dean doesn’t reply, his eyes closed behind his sunglasses. Joshua picks up one of the throwing knives Dean had set out on one of the porch tables, holding it carefully by the blade before throwing it. It misses the post he was aiming for by three feet and clatters against the fence. Dean peeks at him over his shades and rolls his eyes before closing them again.

Joshua picks up another knife, staring at it intently. “Do you really use these things?”

Dean shrugs. “In a pinch.”

Joshua stares at him, not really sure if Dean is kidding or not. Of course, Dean's face betrays nothing. Joshua gestures with a knife. “You're probably deadly with these things, aren't you?”

“You bet.” Dean says simply.

Joshua nods to him. “Show me.” Dean doesn’t make to move, not even turning to look at him. The older man sighs. “Why are you resisting this job? Ten-thousand bucks a week.” A pause. “Fifteen-thousand.”

Dean scoffs. “Man, there are a hell of a lot of good guys available for that kind of money. You talked to Fitzgerald or Harvelle? Walker?”

“Yeah. Gordon Walker was interested...” Joshua takes a seat next to Dean “...but the word is, _you're_ the best.”

“There's no such thing.” Dean says, bitterly.

Joshua sighs for about the tenth time. “We're talking about a really frightened young man. With a seven-year old adopted daughter. Believe me, I wouldn't be here if I didn't think this was for real.” Another pause. “Come on, Dean. He begged me to get you.”

Dean sits up finally, looking at Joshua critically. He picks up five of his throwing knives, taking his time. “All right, all right. I'll come look it over. But if I take it, it's twenty-thousand a week.”

Joshua whistles. “All right. You must be very deadly for twenty grand a week.”

Dean stands and lines himself up before he let the knives fly with a smooth motion, one at a time. They sink an inch into the center of the target one by one. Once they were all out of his hand, it’s clear they make a perfectly straight, vertical line down the post. Dean just turns to Joshua and winks, clicking his tongue.

\- - -

That night, Dean watches the video Joshua had emailed a link for along with Milton’s address. The clip is all over YouTube, so it’s not hard to find. Castiel, or at least a blurry figure with messy, dark hair that is apparently Castiel is signing autographs. Fans are shouting like mad, chanting his name. Another man who looks strikingly similar to him is standing off to the side, being shoved around by the crowd but paid no mind…that’s the older brother Joshua told him about. The fans are handing over all sorts of things; shoving photos out to be signed, some giving flowers…Dean notices the book immediately. It’s large, like those old encyclopedias, and when the blond man to Castiel’s left takes it, it’s clearly heavy. Joshua had mentioned that Castiel collected old literature as a hobby, particularly of a religious nature, and that since his mentioning it in a recent interview, fans gifted all kinds of books. In the video, there’s a note on the front cover, but the quality is too blurry to make it out. The blond, he looks pretty young, is going to set the book into the trunk of the car Castiel is making his way to when an explosion bursts from that same area, lightening the screen. People scatter and the audio devolves into shrieking before the video cuts to black.

Dean is officially worried for Castiel Milton, and watches the video over and over for clues, no matter how futile it might seem.

\- - -

Dean pulls up to the sprawling Milton mansion in his ’67 Chevy Impala. It’s the one thing he inherited from his dad that isn’t a weapon or debt, and the purr of her engine makes him much more able to imagine he and his father actually had good times together. There’s a gate that wraps around the front of the property, and he steps out of the car to survey it. It’s dingy and old, rusting in more places than not, and when he grabs a bar and shakes it, the entire section rattles loudly. He gets back into his car and presses the button on the call-box. The reception is terrible, crackling so badly he can hardly understand the voice on the other side.

“Yes?” It’s a man, that’s about all he can tell.

“Dean Winchester to see Mr. Milton.”

“Uh…what?”

Dean gives a thoughtful look before repeating, much louder, “Han Solo to see Mr. Milton!”

“You got an appointment?” The voice asks, clearly not understanding.

“Pudding.” Dean says, deadpan.

“Okay.” The voice cuts out and the gate swings open with a mechanical whir.

Dean takes his car up the drive, and the mansion is massive. The only thing more sprawling than the house is the grounds, and it takes him a little while to get to the garage area. Along the way, he takes in every break in the fence, the overgrown shrubs and thick lines of trees he imagines are great hiding places for potential stalkers. He pulls in next to one of the cars outside of the garage, noticing a young, blond man wiping down the mirror on one of the limos. He drops his rag onto the hood and approaches, and Dean notices his bandaged hand, along with the embroidery on his mechanic’s jumpsuit which reads ‘Adam’. He recognizes him as the guy from the video who had taken the book…and he’s just a kid.

“Can I help you?” He asks, eyes narrowed.

“You the guy on the intercom?” Dean asks casually.

“No. Can I help you?” Adam repeats.

“Name’s Skywalker. I have an appointment with Mr. Milton.” Dean tells him. His eyes track over Adam’s shoulder, where he sees a painter’s van and two large men working.

“Oh.” The kid relaxes just a bit. “And that was arranged by...?”

Dean gives him an impressed look. “Joshua Godson.”

“Go right ahead, Mr. Skywalker.” Adam says eagerly.

Dean looks him up and down, then nods at the bandaged limb. “What happened to your arm?”

Adam glances down at his arm, making a face. “A book.”

Dean offers him a falsely oblivious nod and heads up to the house as Adam returns to his work. Once he gets to the front porch, he rings the doorbell, but the door isn’t even shut. An older woman, clearly the housekeeper, appears in the entryway as a man in dirty work clothes squeezes past her, carrying a long plank of wood.

“Ben Kenobi to see Joshua Godson.” Dean tells her.

“Oh, come in.” She replies, ushering him inside. Dean steps inside, looking around. “Being completely honest, Mr. Kenobi, I don't know where Mr. Godson is. Did he say he'd be here?”

“Yeah.” Dean replies, still looking around.

“Then he must be. Let me go look for him.” She leads Dean into a formal waiting room, a lot like a parlor, but there are sheets covering the furniture to shield it from the construction. There are TVs around the room, playing a loop of Castiel’s music video for his hit song, Clarity. It’s barely loud enough for him to hear, but he’s sure he’d heard the song somewhere before.

“Make yourself at home, dear. Can I get you anything at all?” The woman asks, pulling Dean out of his thoughts. He shakes his head, waving her off, and she goes off to find Joshua.

Dean doesn’t stay still, though; he wanders the house, finding the rooms that are obviously lived-in, perhaps already redecorated. Workers pass him like he doesn’t exist. He steps into a tiled room that overlooks the pool with a wall that is all glass. On the opposite wall are shelves containing the trophies of Castiel Milton's career: a Tony award, six Grammy's, gold and platinum records among other things. In the mix of framed photos of Castiel accepting the awards is one of him and his small daughter, Anna, dressed in an adorable, lacy green dress. They’re both goofing off for the camera with obvious affection.

Dean looks down at the pool, and the only person in sight is seven-year-old Anna, the little girl from the photograph, bright red hair shimmering in the sun. She is sitting on the side of the ledge, legs swishing in the water as she kicks them, her dress rucked up in her lap as to not get wet. A nanny sits, some way off, tapping at her iPhone.

A heavy bass beat cuts through the air and distracts Dean, coming from somewhere nearby in the house. It’s another Castiel Milton number, but this one is up-tempo and bouncy. Dean follows the sound.

Dean walks in through the back of the room that the noise is coming from. It’s large and comfortable with plenty of seating, a full wet bar, a wall of stereo gear and a projection booth. It is entirely packed with people, props and video equipment. There’s an air of organized chaos as the music blares. A group of six dancers is rehearsing an energetic number for a music video, directed by a choreographer. There’s a video cameraman circling them, taping the rehearsal, which appears on a plasma-screen TV behind them. In one corner, a young, dark-haired man is being pinned into a proposed costume for the video. 

As Dean sits on the barstool at the back, a large swivel chair turns to reveal Joshua. He waves to Dean and makes his way over to him. On the other side of the room, a brawny, heavyset man rises to look at Dean. Joshua signals to him that everything is all right, so the big guy looks at Dean a moment more, then sits down. Dean looks around the room again, seeing people chatting through the rehearsal, tapping away at their phones and tablets.

In one of the chairs, he notices an attractive younger man, perhaps a little older than Castiel. It’s clearly the other dark-haired man from the video: Michael, Castiel’s brother. He’s typing away at an iPad, only looking up every once in a while at the dancers. The music climaxes and abruptly stops. The dancers hold their dramatic final poses for a second, then relax again.

The room breaks into applause, and distinct laughter comes from the sofa facing away from Dean, looking right at the dancers. The director’s voice cuts through the noise with a loud, “Playback everybody!”

Castiel’s voice, deep but enthusiastic, pipes up from the couch. “Balth, Balthazar, come check this out!”

The man who had been choreographing the dancers goes to the sofa obediently, sitting. All the dancers stand around the plasma screen as the video is set up for replay. Castiel is speaking to Balthazar, smiling and nudging the other man with his shoulder.

Joshua walks over and tries to get Castiel’s attention, but he’s busy talking to his brother now. “Michael, how did you like it?”

The director cuts off the older Milton brother as he responds with his approval. He frowns as Castiel turns to the brawny man that had almost ejected Dean earlier. “Cliff, what did you think, Cliff?” The large man made a non-committal sound. “Oh, don’t mind him, Balth. He’s got no taste.”

The young man in the costume is shoved in front of Castiel, and he stands to appraise him as Joshua tries to get into the singer’s line of sight. “Castiel, Dean Winchester is here to—”

“What do you think, Joshua? Is this me? It’s a little sparkly…” Castiel says thoughtfully as he surveys the costume.

“It’s great. Terrific.” Joshua says dismissively. “Castiel, Dean Winchester is here.”

“Who?” Castiel asks, clueless. Michael is surveying Dean, now, and he notices.

“Dean Winchester. The bodyguard.” Joshua says like he’s speaking to a child.

“I think Balthazar should be my bodyguard.” Castiel teased, smirking.

“Oh I’ll guard that body anytime, Cassie.” Balthazar quips, swatting Castiel’s ass as he walks by. Castiel winks at him before looking back at the costume. “How’s the back look?”

“Castiel, peel your eyes away from the glitter and leather for five seconds and meet this man.” Joshua says sternly.

Castiel sighs. “Fine, fine. Who am I meeting?”

He turns, and for a moment, Dean is actually a little stunned. He’s seen photos of Castiel Milton, but it pales in comparison to the real thing. He’s gorgeous: just tan enough that it’s clearly natural, dark hair messy but somehow appearing styled, plush pink lips that quirk into the barest of smiles, and literally the bluest eyes Dean has ever seen. He doesn’t even let himself look remotely fazed, though, completely composed as he steps up to Castiel. The other man is clearly surveying him, though, and it’s more than apparent.

“Dean Winchester, Castiel Milton.” Joshua intones. They shake hands, and Cas’ eyes rake over Dean’s entire form, feet to face.

“You sure don’t look like a bodyguard.” Castiel admonishes.

“What were you expecting?” Dean asks, eyebrow raised in a way that’s far too suave. He gets it under control quickly.

Castiel shrugs. “Bouncer-type? Tough-guy?”

“Oh, right. The James Bond getup is just my disguise.” Dean replies with a smirk.

Castiel grins openly. “Well, he’s witty. I like him.”

Joshua motions to the other Milton in the room. “Dean, this is Michael, Castiel’s brother and his PA.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Winchester.” Michael offers with a smile and a nod that is far too Wally Cleaver for his liking.

“This is Cliff, head of security.” Joshua points a thumb to the brawny man, then to another man, older, who is on the phone in the corner. He offers a dismissive wave. “Zachariah Adler, Castiel's publicist.”

“Can we get you something to drink?” Castiel asks like he’s talking to some guy he’s trying to pick up at a bar. He’s smirking, eyebrow raised as he lets his eyes wander over Dean again.

“Orange Juice.”

“Straight?” Castiel replies in amusement, turning to his brother. “Michael.”

The name is an order more than a request, and the elder Milton prepares Dean’s drink as he and Castiel sit at the bar. The singer dismisses Balthazar, promising he’ll be with him in a minute before leaning in closer to Dean, voice low.

“Listen, this whole thing is Joshua's idea...this sudden obsession with protecting me. Cliff has always handled my security and we've done just fine.”

Michael hands Dean his drink, looking straight at him. “I think Joshua’s right, Castiel. You should take more precautions.”

Zachariah covers the phone he’s talking into with a hand before leaning into the conversation. “Michael, I'm sure Mr. Winchester would tell you the number of nuts writing fan letters and sending emails jumps every time Castiel is on the cover of a magazine.”

“Not like this.” Joshua mutters darkly.

Castiel sighs. “Relax guys, I said I'd do it. I'm willing to go along, as long as we all understand each other. I'm not going to let this alter my life.”

“That's not going to be a problem.” Joshua insists.

Zachariah hangs up the phone and jumps in. “...And I'm sure you'll blend in just fine. You can select whatever alarm systems you want for the house. Some kind of improved security for the gate. What else, Castiel?”

Castiel has already stood and starts to wander over to Balthazar and the dancers. Dean looks at Joshua pointedly, and the older man clearly doesn't like the direction this whole thing is going. 

“I think I'm safe when I'm here at the house so I guess the main thing will be when I go out. Cliff will be able to fill you in on all that. You two’ll have to work something out; I don't want both of you falling all over me everywhere I go. But the most important thing is that I will not allow Anna to be affected by this.” Castiel’s voice takes on a certain edge that surprises Dean.

Balthazar slides his arm around Castiel’s waist and stands behind him, starting to run through the steps with him in slow motion.

Zachariah nods. “I was just going to cover that. We'll have to tell the child you have some other function...”

Castiel pipes up in agreement. “I don't want her to think she's in prison. So the house and grounds must not be altered in any way. She shouldn't be aware that you're even here. Is that clear?”

Dean stares at him for a long while, glancing up at Joshua briefly. “Mr. Milton...”

“Castiel.” The man corrects.

“There's been a mistake. Big misunderstanding. If you'll show me the quickest way outta here, we'll save each other a world of trouble.” Dean is already heading for the door, and Castiel is watching him in interest.

Cliff opens his mouth to give directions, getting as far as ‘pool’ before Joshua shuts him up with a, “Cram it, Cliff.”

“Nice meeting you.” Dean offers, still walking and not daring to look back.

“Winchester, will you wait a minute?” Joshua begs, following.

Zachariah blocks him. “Joshua, I don't think we should be begging this guy for help.”

“Zach, I'm handling this.” Joshua grits out. Castiel looks on coolly as Dean slides open the glass door and Joshua follows. “Winchester, wait!”

Dean is walking rapidly away from the window wall, down the slope with Joshua scurrying to keep up. “Dean, will you wait a minute? I should have told you more. I'm sorry but I was afraid he wouldn't go through with it. I thought I'd let the two of you work it out...come to an understanding.”

“Oh, we did.” Dean says with amusement, walking off.

“He's not a bad person, and whether he knows it or not, he needs you.” Dean still doesn’t stop and Joshua is getting desperate. “You've come this far...would you just wait here for one minute? I want to show you something. Please, Winchester.”

He runs back to the house, leaving Dean by the pool. He’s still trying to get the hell out of dodge when a flash of red entreats on his vision and he looks down to see Anna in front of him.  
She is clearly bored out of her mind and, happy to have someone to talk to, walks up to Dean, plucking a large toy boat that she’d been playing with out of the water. Dean tries to get around her, but she blocks his path. Dean looks down at her, noticing the nanny barely watching from the other side of the pool, busy on her phone.

“Hi!” The girl’s voice is as sweet as her smile. It doesn’t make Dean any less uncomfortable. The only kid he’s ever liked was his younger brother.

“Hi.” He offers on principle.

“How are you today?” She asks, formal, just like she’s been taught.

Dean feels less like a bodyguard and more like a caged animal trying to escape. “All right. You?”

“Oh, I'm fine, thank you.” She pauses, then, “Do you like boats?”

Dean gives up, realizing he’s not going to get around her. “Uh, not really?”

“What about planes?” Anna asks, producing a toy plane from God-knows-where. He doesn’t manage to notice it was attached into the back of the boat.

“Uh, no. Definitely not a fan of planes.” Dean offers resolutely.

“What?” Anna seems shocked. “Why not?”

Dean gives her a non-committal shrug. “Dunno.”

Anna gives him a very serious look, which seems a little ridiculous on her lovely young face. “Of _course_ you do…you just don’t want to tell me.”

Dean considers that, suddenly realizing it’s damn hot out in the sun like this. He slips off his blazer and tosses it over so it drapes on one shoulder, then crouches down so he’s eye-level with Anna. “You're a pretty smart kid.”

Anna gives him a sassy look. “I _know_.”

Dean chuckles, shaking his head fondly. “All right, you got me. I was stuck on a plane and something bad happened.”

Anna blinks at him, rather amazed. “Wow, that sounds scary. Did it crash?”

Dean gave an agreeable nod. “Fell right out of the sky, into the ocean. They said the water and good flying was all that saved us. You ever been on a plane?”

“ _Duh_! Papa and I fly on private jets all the time, but boats are my favorite. He rented this huge yacht once, and we took a trip. It was great. Everyone threw up _except_ me because throwing up is a gross thing boys do. But I _love_ boats and planes!”

Dean huffs a laugh. “Well, nobody's perfect.”

Anna squints up at him, because the sun is behind Dean, haloing him like some divine being. “So you’re a bodyguard, aren't you?”

Dean blinks, more than a little impressed. “What makes you say that?”

“I have _ears_.” Anna quips, all sass.

Dean just chuckles again, smirking. ”Guess I'll have to remember that.”

Joshua runs up to them, catching his breath. He’s holding a bulging manila file. As he catches sight of Anna, he shifts to hold the file casually, turning so she can’t really see it. Dean notices her eyes tracking it. “Dean, glad you waited. Hi, Anna. Dean, can we—?”

Joshua leads Dean away, and he hears Anna’s small voice calling out, “Nice to meet you!”

When he glances over his shoulder, she’s waving with an enthusiastic smile that definitely _doesn’t_ melt his heart.

He follows Joshua to an office he hadn’t seen yet in the house, far away from the hustle and bustle of the construction and rehearsal. Dean sits at the dark wood conference table and leafs through the file. There are letters of all sizes, shapes and appearance. Some are stained and crinkled while others look like they were written on ironed card-stock. The office has large windows, and he can still see the pool from where he’s sitting. He catches himself stealing glances at that precocious little girl with the brilliant red tresses as he sorts through the letters.

“This is just six months’ worth.” Joshua tells him gravely.

“You get these looked at by a professional?” Dean asks. Joshua shakes his head, so Dean continues looking through them. They’re obviously from many different people, some are scrawled, some typed, some printed emails, some assembled from cutouts (and no matter how nice the message, those _always_ come across as creepy to Dean). Many are soiled and torn, others immaculate. A few have photos of Castiel with offensive markings on them.

Zachariah lets himself into the room, pocketing his cellphone, which he’s clearly just gotten off a call on. He watches over Dean’s shoulder obnoxiously. “Joshua says you were in the Secret Service, Mr. Winchester?”

Dean just nods. He doesn’t like to talk about it, really. Not after what happened. Unfortunately, it’s all anyone else ever wants to talk about.

“Ever guard the head honcho?” Zachariah asks, eyebrow raised curiously.

Dean bites back a sigh. “Six years with our current president.”

“He got shot.” Zachariah deadpans.

“Not on my shift.” Dean answers immediately.

Zachariah seems to find this hilarious, because he laughs hysterically, taking a few moments to calm down. Dean slides a pile of letters he’d placed separate from the others over to Joshua. “These don’t look really concerning, but you never know. Hang onto these.”

Joshua nods as Dean pulls out one letter in particular, the bodyguard looking at the other man pointedly. “You think this one’s related to the book?”

“Dunno…is Mr. Milton up to date on all this? He knows that book was intended for him, right?” Dean asks.

Joshua and Zachariah look at each other, and Dean can see they clearly disagree on the subject. The publicist speaks first. “We said there'd been some electrical problem with the car. Happened right by the exhaust. Look, he doesn't need that kind of worry right now. No need to get him all upset over it.”

Dean gives him an incredulous look. “Cops?”

“There’s no need for all that…no one got hurt.” Zachariah’s voice is a little too ‘snake-oil salesman’ for Dean, and it grates on him.

“What about that Adam kid?”

Zachariah sighs. “The chauffeur? He was fine. All the fans were far enough back.”

Joshua stares at Dean critically, but Dean’s looking out the window again, watching Anna.

After a moment, Joshua stands and beckons Dean to another room in the house. It’s an opulent bedroom with way too many damn pillows on the bed. The room is clearly designed to be shown off, and sure enough, Zachariah confirms that it was in some ‘Celebrity Bedrooms’ article online but that Castiel never actually sleeps in there. When Joshua tells him that one of the notes had been found on the bed, he knows without a doubt that he has to take this job.

Zachariah concedes to letting him do an overhaul on the house security, agreeing to tell Castiel about the stalker. Joshua walks Dean back to his car, promising that he’ll work everything out with Castiel and Zachariah to make Dean’s job as easy as possible. Dean doesn’t believe it for a second, knowing the job was never easy, but he’ll do it. He tells Joshua with a completely serious expression as he climbs into his car, that if he ever lies to him about a job again, he’ll hunt him down. He doesn’t smile or laugh it off as a joke as he drives home.

\- - -

Adam, the chauffeur, helps Dean move into the house the next day. He brings weapons, probably too many, and enough clothes for a few weeks. This is one of those jobs where he really doesn’t know how long he’s going to be stuck there, so he prepares for the worst. His first impression of Castiel wasn’t exactly glowing, but those electric blue eyes are all he can think about.

Even though all the bags are out of the Impala’s trunk, now, Adam watches in the doorway as Dean unpacks and puts his things away in a sort of meticulously organized chaos. He just stands there for a moment before finally speaking.

“Why’d you say your name was Skywalker?”

Dean doesn’t look up from his pile of shirts. “Wanted to see how easy it was to get in.”

Adam snorts, perhaps a tad bitterly. “And it was, wasn’t it?”

Dean nods. “As pie.” He looks over at Adam finally. “Bet you stay busy, what with washing all the cars and driving Mr. Milton around, huh?”

“Well it _is_ my job.” Adam responds, like it’s obvious.

Dean chuckles, despite himself. “Well, kid. We’re adding to your resume. You—” He raises his eyebrows at him pointedly. “—are officially my new assistant.”

Adam looks skeptical. “Uh…what?”

“Look, Adam, I've spent a lot of time guarding people all over the world and I’m gonna level with you. No matter how incompetent the assassins, no matter how much they miss their targets, even if they got aim like Stormtroopers, there's one person those sons of bitches always hit.”

“And that is?” Adam asks dryly.

“The cocky young chauffeur.” Dean says pointedly.

Adam can’t help but laugh, clearly amused. “All right. But you gotta teach me how to use those.” He points to the gun case Dean is sliding under the bed.

Dean grins. “That I most certainly will.”

\- - -

It takes them a while to get the house fortified to Dean’s satisfaction. He’s honestly amazed in this day and age that Castiel Milton, one of the richest men in show business, hasn’t bothered to spend a damn penny on security outside burly and obnoxious Cliff. But as they install the cameras and build a new fence, replace the locks and strengthen the windows, he’s learning more and more about Castiel. He’s a traditionalist at heart; he seems like the kind of guy who’s a spoiled, pretty-boy celebrity, all about his gadgets and Twitter and his sporty little Fisker Karma. The truth is that the Fisker Karma is Michael’s; it was a gift from Castiel. Castiel himself likes to collect old cars, his pride and joy being his 1964 Aston Martin DB5, in silver, of course. He’s apparently a huge fan of James Bond, and Dean will later deny nearly jizzing his pants when he saw Adam pull that baby out for a wash on his second day there.

For a guy that sings the kind of music that ends up in the Top 40’s of pop, Castiel really is an old soul. He enjoys his technology being as base as possible; his iPhone was something forced upon him by Zachariah, and he’s mostly seen using the house phone when he makes a call. He doesn’t get to spend a lot of time with Anna because of rehearsals, but when he does, they sit out in the grass and weave flower crowns, nary an electronic device in sight. When Castiel wants to relax, Dean generally finds him sipping on wine and listening to classical music; obscure stuff, too. He’s pretty sure the guy doesn’t even like Mozart.

They’re a few days into the security overhaul when Dean finds his way to the gym, which he’d previously neglected. He finds a large room facing the pool with a wall of windows, and notices Michael is working out there. The elder Milton brother notices him and stops, beckoning him in. Dean lets himself in through the French door and closes it behind himself.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt. I’m just trying to be thorough…the grounds are pretty big, lots of space to cover.” Dean explains.

Michael waves him off, grabbing his water bottle to have a drink. “It’s fine, I needed the break. This is my own personal area, I’m the only one who works out around here.”

Dean nods slowly, taking in the room. The only wall that isn’t covered in mirrors or windows is adorned in shelves of photos, and Dean walks past them, taking them all in.

“My ego wall. Not quite as impressive as Castiel’s.” He jokes. He’s actually smiling slightly, a bit of a change from his usual stern expression. Dean bets it’s the endorphins from the workout.

Noticing a picture of two strapping young boys, he points. “You and Castiel?”

Michael nods. “When I was a kid, I put a band together. Small-time. We played high school dances, local bars…stuff like that. Then Castiel joined the act. As you can imagine, he was quite the entertainer. Even then, he had a way of stopping the show. So I kind of quit. Professionally, anyway.”

Dean gives him an understanding look. “I get that. My bro’s a hot-shot lawyer. He got all the brains. I’m good with a gun.”

Michael’s lips quirk up in a definite smile that time, if melancholy, as he stares at the photo. “It’s always pretty obvious who the favorite is.”

Dean calls Sam that night for the first time in weeks and wishes him good luck on his current case.

\- - -

A few days later, the overhaul is going perfectly, but Castiel is clearly getting antsy. Anna is very curious about all the changes being made to the house, and although she seems very interested and not bothered in the least, Castiel gives Dean an absolute death glare when he sees him that afternoon. Dean’s just finished teaching Adam how to skid-turn every size of vehicle they have, from the two-seaters to the limos, and the guy is freaking thrilled, talking excitedly about how awesome a chauffeur he’s going to be now that he can drift.

“Just don’t get all Fast and Furious on me, kid. We want Mr. Milton to get to his appointments in one piece. Besides, all the jostling could mess up his hair.” Dean smirks, and Adam bursts out laughing, doubling over at the waist as he cackles.

“I guess it’s a good thing my stylist tells me bedhead is in, then, huh?” Castiel quips as he rounds the corner, sneering at them.

Adam goes silent and stands bolt-upright. “S-sorry, we were just—Dean taught me how to—”

“Oh yes, do tell me all about what _Mr. Winchester_ has taught you.” Castiel baits, crossing his arms.

Adam opens his mouth to answer when Anna pops up behind him, tugging on Dean’s shirt. She motions across the street where a sporty black car is parked, windows tinted far darker than what was legal. Dean looks down at her, then at the car. It pulls away slowly, but at that angle, he can’t see the plate. He tunes Adam’s explanation and Castiel’s snide return out as Anna speaks.

“It looked like a Mustang.” She tells him, sounding sure of herself.

“You like cars, too, huh?” Dean asks distractedly.

“No, but I have a pink Barbie one and it looks like that. But mine’s a convertible.” Anna retorts sassily.

Dean just nods, eyes still on the now-empty road. He’s pulled out of his thoughts when Castiel snaps at him.

“I’m not paying you to teach my driver how to compete in Nascar!” The pop-star growls, and Dean’s eyebrows jump incredulously.

“I taught him a few simple techniques that are gonna help him get you out of a tough situation if you’re in one.” The bodyguard counters. “Don’t go having a fit about it.”

“A _fit_?” Castiel shrieks, and yeah, he’s having a fit. “I am not a _toddler_ , Mr. Winchester, and you are way out of line! I am dealing with the gates and the cameras and the windows and the security, thinking it’s all for mine and Anna’s safety, and here you are teaching my driver how to _drift_. Excuse me if I voice my displeasure.”

“Papa, Dean’s just trying to help.” Anna pipes up, and Castiel looks at her like he’s just had a bucket of ice water dumped over his head.

“What has he been telling you? Has he talked to you?” He sounds almost panicked, and Dean rolls his eyes.

“No…I mean, we talked once and he said he didn’t like planes and he wasn’t a big fan of boats, which I think is kind of dumb.” Anna explains flatly. “But I’m not stupid, Papa. I know he’s a bodyguard and if he’s doing this stuff it means he’s protecting you, right?”

Dean makes a face as Castiel eyes him critically. “Of course he is, honey. Now why don’t you go inside so we can talk now, okay?”

Anna sighs loudly and dramatically. “Fine. But you should be nice to him.”

Dean snorts and pats her pretty red head as she skips off back into the house.

Once she’s around the corner, Castiel turns to Dean, livid look in his eyes. “I don’t know what ideas you’re sticking into her head, but—”

“Whoa, back it up.” Dean tosses his hands up, giving the pop-star a pointed look. “Listen, I haven’t said anything to Anna about this, she’s figuring it all out on her own. She’s a smart little thing. But let me make something clear. I’m not here to waste your time. I don’t get some sick sense of satisfaction out of making clients get new windows or alarms or friggin’ shrubbery, okay? I don’t get my jollies from watching you glare at me as I make your home safer, all right? So quit acting like I’m making your life so damn miserable, because when it comes down to it, I’m here to keep you alive or die trying, got it?”

Castiel stares at him for a few moments, his features softening slightly. His eyes are still cold, however. “I suppose I’ll leave you to your…driver training, then.”

“Thanks, Mr. Milton, you have a great rest of your day.” Dean bats back with a sarcastic grin as Castiel turns and walk away.

“Just Castiel.” The pop-star tosses back over his shoulder, and it sounds more like a request than an order.

\- - -

With as much as Dean has been focusing on Castiel’s home, he hasn’t really been thinking much about when the musician actually wants to go out. It’s the kind of thing he’s used to, generally…except the part where his client insists on bringing his head of security everywhere and they both glare at him constantly like he’s Perez Hilton out trolling for a damaging headline. Dean doesn’t think he’s ever had a client so hateful of him.

Castiel announces that he’s tired of being cooped up and wants to go out to a favorite place of his for lunch. Dean has no problem obliging, but the fact that Cliff has a problem with _him_ doesn't exactly help things along. They go to some swanky café in the Hills and Castiel giggles quietly with the owner of the place as they talk, clearly about Dean as the pop-star's eyes track him and he grimaces.

He feels like they're there forever, and he can't help his body's reaction to immediately want to lurch over and wrench a fan away when they come up squealing and asking for a selfie with Castiel. Dean's used to politicians; people might shake a hand, snap a photo...but they're never this excited and the high-pitched shrieks put him on edge. Still, Castiel obliges every time, always making a silly face and then a classic smile because they're both his trademark. Every fan leaves starry-eyed and grateful, and Dean doesn't want to admit it's a little sweet.

When Castiel gets up, a patron across the room practically lunges toward him, and Dean instantly shifts to stand between the star and the possible threat, palm sliding up his blazer where it is hiding his firearm. Castiel notices and glares, clearing his throat and twitching his head until the bodyguard moves. Dean slinks off a few feet and the fan timidly approaches. Castiel signs a coaster as an apology and takes a selfie with him, and the guy trots off like he's seen the face of God.

Cliff looks annoyed at him, but it's nothing compared to Castiel's grimace as he brushes by him on his way to the door.

"I'm surprised you didn't tackle him to the ground. Or worse, just plug him." He grits out bitterly, pushing past. Michael glances at him with a small frown as he follows behind.

When they leave, it's apparent social media has spread the word where Castiel is, because a half-dozen paparazzi are across the street from the café and shutters start snapping away as Castiel emerges. Michael darts in front of his brother to block their shots as Cliff leads the way back to the car, Dean trailing behind as if he isn't with them.

"Castiel! Castiel! Can you comment on rumors that you and your choreographer are having an affair behind his wife's back?" One is shouting, and Dean's eyebrow raises in interest.

"Balthazar is happily married and although I am very fond of his dancing, the man has no business in my bed." Castiel quips back, and they just rush after him like baby birds cheeping for a meal.

"Got anyone else in your bed, then?" Another one of them yells.

Castiel turns exactly to the one that spoke and smirks right into the camera. "If you're going to ask me about my sex life, shouldn't you at least buy me dinner first?"

The group devolves into unintelligible chatter and Dean snorts as they pile into the car, Castiel, Cliff and Michael in the back and Dean up front with Adam, who is already waiting in the driver's seat.

"Where to, Castiel?" Adam asks into the rear-view.

"Just home. Paps always ruin my day." Castiel grumbles, and Cliff pats his shoulder sympathetically.

"Yessir." Adam responds, pulling away and carefully avoiding the photographers that have gathered around the car. Eventually they move enough for him to pull out onto the road and they meander off to look for more victims.

Michael and Castiel are leaning together looking over the former's iPad, speaking quietly. Cliff leans forward between the two front seats, voice low. "Hey. That stunt back there...stuff like that's not gonna fly, pretty-boy."

Dean glances at him dubiously. "Oh yeah? Thought it was my job to keep an eye out for threats?"

"A fan asking for a photo isn't a threat." Cliff snaps back.

Dean is watching the mirrors as they drive, noticing that a black Mustang has been following them for several blocks now. "Uh huh. Until they have a knife. Fans are the most dangerous of all. They come in groups and look like everybody else."

"Castiel loves his fans, and he doesn't want to get a bad rep because you move to tackle them any time they get close." Cliff counters.

Dean's eyes are still on the rear-view as he leans and whispers to Adam, "Turn right."

Adam obliges, checking the mirror to see what Dean sees. The Mustang follows them around the turn. "Is it the stalker?"

Dean waves it off; there's no way to tell, but he thinks it is. "Slow it down."

Adam looks excited. "Do you want me to do a 180?"

"No, just slow it down a bit." Dean tells him. He obeys and Cliff makes a face.

"What, what is it?" He's clueless, turning around to look out the back window.

"What's going on, why are we stopping?" Castiel asks, looking up from the iPad.

The driver of the Mustang seems to chicken out and makes a sudden left, screeching out of sight.

"Take them up to the house." Dean orders as he rips off his seatbelt and bolts from the car, closing the door behind him as he breaks into a full-on run. Castiel, Michael and Cliff both watch him go like he's some kind of loon, but the pop-star can't help admire the man's figure in that suit.

Adam obeys, pulling up the long driveway as Dean bounds over a hedge and down an embankment, shoving his way through the overgrown tropical plant life. He catches up to the car, but it's too far for him to see the plate.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean growls, taking off up the hill on the opposite side of the road. He curses the fact that he's in a monkey suit and freaking dress shoes, wanting to give anything in that moment to be in BDUs and boots. He'd even settle for loose jeans and sneakers.

Despite the protest of his shoes and the seams of his pants, he scales the embankment and darts through the brush, dodging small palms and overgrown shrubs. His feet hit cement as he comes upon an overpass and he doesn't even pause before bounding off and down to the road below, landing with a grunt into a forward roll. He stands quickly and barely gets to his feet in time to dodge the Mustang as it guns through the underpass and nearly hits him. He runs after it, but the license plate has a protective film over it, so he can't make it out at this distance. His legs are no match for that engine and he stops as the car fades around a corner.

Dean doubles over, breathing heavily with his hands on his knees. Once he catches his breath, he stands and kicks at the blacktop, cursing in frustration.

\- - -

Days later, the overhaul on the house is almost entirely complete. The garage now has an attached guard house for Adam and some new hires to check into. An entire wall of it is covered by a massive TV screen, which is broken up into smaller screens of each of the cameras on-property. With a flick of a switch, one image can take up the entire screen or they can watch them all at once. The intercom actually works now, and the gate is completely new with oily-black metal bars that are totally rust-free. The spikes that line the top are decorative enough not to look menacing, but someone would have a hell of a time climbing over them.

On the top-left screen, Joshua's car is pulling up. The guard on duty buzzes him in and he speeds up the driveway entirely too fast. Dean considers writing up a fake speeding ticket as a joke to put on his windshield but decides that's probably not entirely professional. When Adam pipes up that they should write him a ticket, without Dean having said a word aloud about it, he lets out a laugh.

Joshua climbs out of his car and hurries up the steps to the front door, a little surprised to have to wait for the maid to unlock it. She recognizes him instantly, though, and lets him right in.

He finds Castiel in the common area behind the bar, making himself a smoothie, of all things. Michael is next to him and Zachariah is in the furthest stool, tapping away at his phone. Michael gives Joshua a look like he's in for a bitch-fit.

"I want him out of here." Castiel grumbles, angrily dropping some strawberries into a blender.

"What did he do this time?" Joshua asks, exasperated.

"He told Castiel Sunday brunch at Gabriel's was a no-go." Michael explains when Castiel just makes a miserable face.

"Sunday brunch." Joshua sighs. "You called me in near-hysterics over Sunday brunch?"

"It's not just brunch! It's everything! The alarms, the cameras...I've had to memorize more PIN codes this week than I ever have in my entire life and I have _six_ platinum credit cards. It's madness, Joshua!" Castiel slams his hands down on the counter and Michael jumps, grabbing the fruit that was about to roll off the counter from the force of it.

"I can't come speeding up here every time he pisses you off." Joshua complains. "Where is he?"

"Patio." Michael tells him, tossing his head toward the French doors leading out to the pool.

Joshua opens the door and sticks his head out. He spots the man coming around the new guard building. "Hey Winchester! Come here a minute, would you?"

When Dean heads his way, Joshua leans back into the room and waits.

"Would you believe Dick Roman couldn't get in here yesterday? Dick Roman! Anchors the most important news channel in California and he can't get in to talk to Castiel!" Zachariah complains to Joshua.

"He didn't have an appointment." Dean tells them flatly as he enters, smirking. "Besides, he was kind of a douchebag."

Michael makes a somewhat agreeable look at that, but Castiel fights one down and just glares daggers as the bodyguard enters the room.

“Winchester, what is this about brunch at Gabriel's? Castiel's been going there every Sunday for the last five years.” Joshua reasons.

“That’s exactly the point. I don't want him doing anything he's always done.” Dean explains levelly.

“Tch. _‘I don’t want him doing anything he’s always done’_.” Castiel mimics him mockingly. “The man is a lunatic.”

“No, those would be the people he’s protecting you from.” Joshua intones.

“Well excuse me if I don’t lock myself in a panic room over it.” Castiel bites back.

“Don’t give him any ideas, next he’ll be making them build you one.” Zachariah protests dramatically.

Dean’s jaw clenches in anger, but it’s not enough. He rounds on Castiel. “All right, listen. There are real people who want you dead, okay? It’s my job to make sure that that doesn’t happen. And if that means that you don’t get to have your Sunday brunch, I think it’s worth it when you consider you’ll be alive to enjoy it for years to come once I catch the bastard who’s stalking you.”

Castiel seems mildly surprised that Dean has the gall to mouth off to him, but Michael and Zachariah look completely shocked. Joshua, however, doesn’t seem remotely phased, like he was expecting this all along.

“Now, look. I expected that protecting you would be difficult, but your attitude is only making it worse. It’s hard enough to keep you safe when you think you can walk around like there _aren’t_ millions of people who would kill to meet you for even a second, but it’s wildly unhelpful when you’re constantly tweeting where you’re going to be.” Dean snarls.

“I don’t do that twitting thing.” Castiel waves off the accusation dismissively. “Michael and Zach handle my social media presence. I post a picture sometimes.”

Dean rounds on Zachariah. “At least until we catch this guy, lay off on posting his friggin’ coordinates all the damn time, wouldn’t you?”

“Fan interactions in public are great for his image.” Zachariah protests.

“I’m sorry, but do the words ‘homicidal fanatic’ even mean anything to you? His life is in danger!” Dean growls, patience worn thin.

“Dean is right.” Michael cuts in, looking at Zachariah. “We should keep the tweets more vague for now. We should think of Anna—”

Castiel turns on the blender, cutting his brother off and staring at Dean coolly as the bodyguard looks back at him. He makes a petulant face as he turns it off.

“So, what exactly is it you want?” Joshua asks finally.

“I want some peace and quiet around here.” Castiel grits out.

Joshua looks at Dean, imploring, and the younger man nods. “We’re almost done with the renovations.”

“And I want to have brunch with my friends.” Castiel pipes up.

“You can go on Tuesday this week.” Dean insists.

Zachariah looks at him like he has four heads and one has just turned into a lion. “Tuesday. Brunch on Tuesday. Where the hell are you even from, Mars?”

Dean just rolls his eyes as Castiel turns on the blender again and glares like he wishes he had laser vision.

\- - -

The next day, Castiel decides the best form of revenge he can get is shopping. But of course, not normal shopping. He has to go to the thrift shop in the bad part of town because, as he rambled on the drive over, _‘I like the vintage look’_ and _‘I like encouraging my fans to stay away from name-brands and create their own style.’_ Dean gets an icy look from the singer when he snorts and quips, “Well okay then, Macklemore.”

Dean _might_ be humming ‘Thrift Shop’ as Castiel rummages through the racks, the singer’s shoulders tense because the man is clearly annoying him. Still, the bodyguard is vigilant, eyes scanning the store and out the window every so often to see Adam and Cliff guarding the limo out front.

“Oh! This is a nice one.” Castiel pulls a vest out from one of the racks, draping it over his arm with a few more things. Once he has a decent stack, he trots back to the dressing room. It’s nothing but an open closet with a curtain, and Dean stays nearby. As Castiel sets the clothes down on the bench in the dressing room, he grins coyly, wrapping himself up in the curtain.

“Hey, Winchester…gonna come in here with me? Just to be safe?” The pop-star winks, giving him a come-hither smile.

Dean would probably hit that…if he’d met Castiel at a bar or something. But he’s not irresponsible enough to just go falling into bed with a client. Yet another reason he prefers politicians and religious figures to the Hollywood crowd; they’re a lot less flirty, and nine times out of ten, far less attractive. He glances over at Castiel and lets the man see his eyes track up and down the other man’s body before he looks away again, watching the store.

It feels a little bit like revenge when Castiel looks slightly interested, maybe even flustered, and closes the curtain with a swift jerk. He starts changing, just tall enough that his eyes clear the curtain rod and he can watch Dean.

“You probably think I’m some diva party-boy, huh? All-green M&M’s and crust-less sandwiches before every show, drinking or shooting up all night, that kind of thing?” Castiel says as he pulls on a shirt from the pile.

Dean glances at him. “Can’t say I get that impression per se, no.”

Castiel peeks up at him, surprised. “You don’t?”

“Not exactly. You spend your evenings drinking wine, reading books that look older than your publicist and listening to Rachmaninov.” Dean counters.

That definitely catches Castiel’s attention. “You know Rachmaninov’s work?”

“I had a professor in college who used to play his stuff for art gallery showings and the like. It just stuck because his name was as wild as his music.” Dean explains.

Castiel nods slowly, turning back to the clothes behind the curtain. “Well, most people think I am. My songs can be dancey, sure, but it’s not a reflection on my character. I had every intention of getting a PhD before the recording studio picked me up.”

“What in?” Dean asks, even if he isn’t sure why he wants to know.

“Theology, History…I’m fond of a lot of subjects. Guess I never got the chance to decide.” Castiel replies wistfully.

“Well, hey. If you decide to go back, at least you won’t need student loans.” Dean smirks when he hears Castiel huff a laugh behind the curtain.

“Very funny. Zach would kill me if I tried to devote my time to studies. Every minute not spent making an album or being on screen or in a magazine or getting interviewed is apparently one minute closer to the imminent death of my stardom.” Castiel says sarcastically.

“That’s how it goes. Same in politics; the moment you aren’t up front, you aren’t in people’s minds and the campaign is dead.” Dean offers sympathetically.

“That’s right, Joshua told me you usually handle government folks.” Castiel tosses the curtain back, revealing that he is wearing a black tank that is at least a size too small and shows off that the man actually has fairly cut arms. He holds out said arms, gesturing for approval.

Dean just shrugs. It looks a little plain to him. Castiel sighs and snaps the curtain closed again. “Yeah, government’s easy. A lot of red tape, but once you know the tape, the process is cake. It’s all rote.”

“Cake, huh? Guess you’ve never been shot at.” Castiel scoffs.

“Shot at, sure. Hit, nah. Took a few punches, though, knife in the arm…and once, a ballpoint pen in the shin. That sucked.” Dean grins in amusement at the shocked look on Castiel’s face when he opens the curtain again, wearing a leather-studded vest. “That’s, uh, flashy.”

“Then it’s perfect.” Castiel smiles and pulls the curtain closed once again. “So you prefer guarding government-types? What, am I too hot to handle?” He throws the curtain open, shirtless now as he wags his eyebrows.

Dean clears his throat and glances away. “You could…say that. The work is easier to manage with the set schedules and appointments.”

“But you don’t stay with your clients for very long. That’s not very common for a bodyguard, right? I’ve had Cliff for years.” Castiel queries, pulling on another shirt while the curtain is still open.

“I don’t like to stay still.” Dean says dismissively.

“Oh, is that why you never stay with a client? Too mundane and predictable? Or are you just afraid you’ll start caring about them?” Castiel stares right at him, squinting like he knows that statement is supposed to hurt.

“Sure.” Dean offers flatly.

“And here I thought you were opening up.” Castiel snipes, separating the clothes into piles depending upon which ones he wants. “You know, I’m not a bad guy. You can talk to me.”

Dean smirks. “Think you’re a bit too clever for me, Cas. I can’t keep up.”

Castiel’s brow knits together as he stares at him. “Cas…huh. That’s a new one.”

Dean is berating himself internally, because who the hell is he to give the client a damn _nickname_ , but his thoughts grind to a screeching halt when Castiel smiles.

“I like it. Now, what about pants?”

\- - -

Later that night, Dean sits alone in his room at the Milton estate and watches every one of Castiel’s music videos, listens to the most popular songs and reads every big interview. He swears it’s research, writing down certain lyrics he remembers being referenced in those threatening letters. But he still can’t help but feel a personal connection to the song currently playing on his laptop. The music video actually features Anna Milton in her acting debut at age six, scattered in small clips throughout the song. The lyrics resonate with Dean, and for a moment, he sees Castiel for what he is: a talented singer and song-writer with what was obviously a troubled family life growing up.

_No, this is not your legacy,_  
 _This is not your destiny,_  
 _Yesterday does not define you._  
 _No, this is not your legacy,_  
 _This is not your meant to be,_  
 _I can break the chains that bind you..._

He doesn’t notice that, from his bedroom window, Castiel has a full view of Dean in the pool house, and can hear his own voice singing through the speakers of the bodyguard’s laptop.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided instead of finishing it all and then posting, since it might be my longest fic yet, I'm going to post this thing chapter by chapter. You can expect it to be a fairly faithful adaptation of the movie, but it should start sounding less and less like the film as it goes on, since I want a little more bonding and character exposition in my version! Since I'm not limited to a feature-length film timeframe, I'm going to run with that.

Dean immerses himself in Castiel's work that night and the next. He does it for the job, yes, but he can't say he hates the guy's music. He's more into classic rock, but Castiel's songs are catchy enough to get his interest while also being deep enough for him not to immediately dismiss them as mindless “club songs”. It takes him a day to (less-than legally) obtain Castiel's first film, which had just recently left theaters and hadn't quite made it to DVD yet.

"For Your Entertainment" is a low-budget indie film about a college student who turns to the BDSM scene to make a little extra money. It ends up putting him through college when he becomes a successful favorite in the underground, but it isn't without its drama when the main character's preacher father finds out about his secret life.

The film was embraced by the BDSM community for its realistic portrayal of the community itself, lauded by critics for its realistic, gritty content and engaging story, and Castiel's performance was praised by all. He wrote a song of the same name to accompany the film, which became a number one hit on the week of its release.

Dean sits through the entire film, but he might as well be watching all-out porn by the way his body responds. The film is as raunchy as an R-rating can get, using creative angles to keep the audience from seeing more than they're allowed. It involves a lot of heavy scenes with Castiel bound and sometimes gagged, but the noises he's making on screen, acting or not, should be outlawed in all fifty states. His transition from casual performer to professional sub and eventually professional dom is so convincing that Dean is certain by the end of the film that the man _is_ actually a bossy top (which he never pegged him for when they met). He doesn't know how he's going to look the man in the eye tomorrow but he knows he'll have to manage somehow.

He closes all the blinds, locks the door and feels very, _very_ unprofessional as he relieves his tension to thoughts of his client with his right hand and a tie between his teeth.

\- - -

The following day, Dean doesn’t see much of Castiel. The man is all but avoiding him, clearly still irritated by the ruckus going on about the house as the new security measures are installed. His patience is likely at an end, and the singer seems to enjoy frustrating his bodyguard by not making it easy to find him. It’s hard to protect someone when you don’t even know where they are. Eventually, Dean gives up and spends the day going over his procedures with some new-hire guards who will be manning the guard post in his and Adam’s absences. 

Later that night, Dean is showing Adam how to check for signs that a car has been tampered with when Castiel struts down the driveway, flanked by Zachariah and Cliff. Castiel is wearing a black trenchcoat buttoned down the front, which seems rather plain given his face; he's wearing black eyeliner and silver shadow that make his eyes look impossibly blue and his hair is styled to look like he just had some amazing sex.

"We, uh, goin' somewhere?" Dean asks as Cliff breezes past and opens the back door of the limo.

"Purgatory, Dean." Zachariah snipes.

"Given you're probably not talking about God's apparent mystical waiting room, I'm assuming you mean the club...and that there's one here in California and we're _not_ taking a road-trip to Miami." Dean quips.

"Mm, familiar with gay clubs, Dean? You continue to surprise me." Castiel drawls in a far too seductive tone, fingers playing over the man's lapels. His gaze is positively smoldering.

Dean is too angry with Zachariah to be flustered. "A club? I haven't coordinated with their security team, I have no idea of the layout of this place...you have to tell me about these things, man."

"I just did, didn't I?" Zachariah says snidely as he climbs into the limo. Castiel's hand drags down Dean's chest as he pulls away, but the bodyguard takes his wrist to stop him.

"Hey, Cas." The surprise on Castiel's face makes him release the singer's hand as he digs into his own pocket. He pulls out a wide, flat velvet box and opens it, revealing a gleaming silver cross inset with blue stones. "I want you to have this."

Castiel blinks, brow furrowing in confusion. He looks like he wants to be flattered but he's not sure what to make of the gesture. "A...a gift? It's beautiful, Dean."

"The center stone is fitting with a transmitter. If you press it, it sends a distress signal and I'll know you need me, in case we're separated." Dean explains, taking it out of the case and handing it to Castiel.

Castiel gapes at him for a moment, but he has no idea what to say. He holds it to his chest, near his heart.

"We're going to be late!" Zachariah complains from inside the limo.

Castiel just gives Dean a small smile before climbing into the limo. Dean closes the door for him as Adam gets into the driver's seat, Dean joining him up front a moment later. At the front end of the driveway, the nanny stands with Anna and Michael.

The little girl waves enthusiastically, shouting, "Sing good, Papa!"

Castiel doesn't hear her. Zachariah turns on the radio, fiddling with the dial for a moment. A male voice cuts through the chatter, crisp and loud.

"—case you've been living under a rock, Twitter is abuzz about the surprise concert by Castiel Milton at Club Pugatory tonight! Tickets sold out the instant rumors leaked that it would be him."

A woman's voice pipes up next. "I feel like he set some kind of record; the tickets sold in less than an hour and all the traffic had the website crashing. Castiel is _hot_ right now, there's no denying it."

Dean uses the master controls up front to turn the volume down and glares daggers at Zachariah. The man just smirks at him smugly and Dean wants to punch him in the face. The radio drones about police being out in full force and that patrons without a ticket would be ejected without prejudice, but he has a distinct feeling that isn't going to deter anyone.

Dean hates being right. When they round the corner, they see the streets completely lined with people crowded together, waving signs and snapping photos on their cell phones. Paparazzi are out full swing and there are two vans; one for the local news and one for a popular radio station; the one droning in the background as they drive. When the limo comes into sight, the mob goes wild, screaming and thrashing just to get a glimpse. The police are doing everything they can to keep the crowd out of the road and behind the barricades but there simply isn't enough manpower.

"Son of a bitch..." Dean says breathlessly, but Zachariah looks thrilled in the backseat. Castiel seems at least a little surprised, and Cliff has the good sense to look concerned.

"How do you wanna handle this, Dean?" Adam asks, slowly pulling around the side of the building, where a red carpet entrance has been set up.

"Still wearing that com I gave you?" Dean queries. Adam pulls his collar down slightly to reveal the black band around his neck. "Good. Be on standby. This could go bad quickly."

He doesn't like the situation one bit; even Castiel looks apprehensive, and Dean definitely counted at least three black Mustangs in the parking lot they just passed through.

“Let’s at least hope the weather holds.” Zachariah comments like there is nothing wrong with this situation at all. But sure enough, the sky looks gloomy and the air is thick and chilly. Several people in the crowd either have raincoats or umbrellas just in case.

As they pull up so the carpet is in line with Castiel's door, the crowd is clamoring to get closer. Dean tells Adam to stay in the limo and climbs out to open the back door himself. Cliff comes out first, chest puffed up and glaring at the grabby mob. It doesn't seem to quell them, especially when Castiel emerges from the limo.

The singer offers a beaming, somewhat shy smile (his signature) and the crowd goes nuts, screaming their affection and begging for photos and autographs. He feels terrible having to walk past without signing anything, but his team had insisted he should wait until the stalker is caught before he starts taking pens and gifts from strangers again.

Zachariah follows behind Castiel, Dean shutting the limo door and slapping the roof twice. Adam pulls the limo off around the building, out of sight. Dean catches up with the singer and his entourage, trying to scan the crowd for threats. In the flurry of limbs and flashes, it's all but impossible. He does notice one young woman who looks utterly manic, and spots her just as she bounds over the barricades and right toward Castiel. Cliff is facing the other way, waving his arms as if to force people back by sheer intimidation.

Dean moves swiftly in front of Castiel and grabs the girl by the back of her neck and one wrist, not hard enough to bruise but definitely enough to control her. He redirects her movement toward the back of the barricades and into the awaiting arms of one of the police officers. Once Dean lets her go, she starts thrashing and screaming, but the bodyguard is already making his way back to his client.

Thankfully when they get inside, the backstage area is free of fans, but the dressing room is bursting with gifts. Flowers, books, wrapped boxes, letters...surely flattering to Castiel, but a goddamn nightmare for Dean. He checks every package with a small device he pulls from his back pocket and searches the room before he lets Castiel enter.

The singer seems perfectly calm now that he is in a safe environment without a ton of screaming fans he's being forced to ignore. Zachariah might only want him to do it for the publicity, but Castiel himself genuinely loves his fans. He hates when he has to come across as busy or too important for them.

Castiel looks at Dean in the mirror he's sitting in front of, expression mild. "You sticking around to watch me change, too?"

The tone is more flat than teasing and Dean snorts, heading for the door. "I was just on my way out."

Castiel might notice how bitter he sounds, but he says nothing.

Dean stands vigilantly by the door, watching Zachariah schmooze with the radio station, talking about Castiel's movie and the possibility of an Oscar nomination. Cliff is off a little ways bullshitting with one of the bouncers. A pair of dancers walk by Dean: a woman and a man both clad in strappy leather getups involving a fair amount of studs. They smirk at him appraisingly and Dean gives a curt nod and smile. He definitely doesn't check them both out as they pass him. The sounds of the screaming crowd are muffled through the walls, but he can still hear them chanting Castiel's name.

The singer ruffles his hair a little bit, sighing as he adjusts the studded cuff on his wrist. He notices the only thing on the vanity he's sitting at is a single bouquet: lilies, atypical for showing affection or wishing luck. There's an envelope with his name painted across it in a scratchy text and he picks it up curiously, opening it and pulling out the folded-up letter inside. It feels stiff, not thick like card-stock but almost crisp...he realizes why when he sees the letter is composed of magazine clippings, glued together to form words;

**MILTON BASTARD—  
OUR LOVE IS TRAGEDY  
BUT NOW, I HAVE CLARITY  
PREPARE YOUR SOUL  
YOUR DEATH WILL BE MY REMEDY...**

Castiel drops the letter like it burned and rushes out of the room to find Dean.

\- - -

"You think the stalker's here?" Joshua asks Dean. The singer's manager came in his own car, but he regrets it given the crowd outside.

Dean inspects the flowers more closely while Castiel sits nearby. They're ordinary, nothing suspicious other than lilies being a symbol of death in and of themselves...but it's clearly just a threat, not an attack.

"Could be. Professional opinion, yes." Dean answers gravely.

"You can't possibly know that!" Zachariah protests.

Joshua holds up both hands to quell them. "All we do know is that they've sent another one. This isn't just a random loony fan."

Castiel looks up from where he's sitting at the vanity. "Another one? There's more than one?"

Dean glares at Zachariah. "You never told him?"

The publicist grimaces. "We didn't want to worry him over something trivial—"

"These are not just poorly-worded love letters from fans, these are _death threats_. There's nothing trivial about them!" Dean growls.

"How many?" Castiel asks in a hollow voice.

Joshua frowns piteously. "A few, mostly just oddball stuff, but there were some blatant threats like this..."

"...and someone got into the house..." Zachariah adds, mumbled.

Castiel starts at that. "Someone was in my _house_?"

"You were out of town." Zachariah amends.

It doesn't help; Castiel is panicking. "When Anna was there?"

"Anna's fine! And besides, the house is like a damn compound now!" Zachariah soothes. It doesn't do any good.

"Someone left a death-threat in my house while my daughter was home and you didn't think to tell me?!" Castiel is starting to become hysterical and Dean steps between the singer and his publicist.

"We should get him out if here." The bodyguard says sternly.

Zachariah chokes like he's been stabbed in the gut. "He can't just leave!"

“He can’t perform like this, either!” Dean bites back. He goes for the door and Castiel stands. The singer hears the roar of the fans outside and takes a breath, trying to calm himself down. He's shaking, but he isn't sure if it's more out of fear anger. It feels like an even mix of both.

"Wait." He says weakly, looking conflicted.

Dean frowns. "It's not worth it, Cas. I can’t protect you out there."

“Do you…do you think the stalker’s really out there?” Castiel asks.

“Might be.” Dean tells him.

“You can’t possibly know that!” Zachariah protests.

“But you knew he was in my house!” Castiel snaps. “My God, who knows what could have—”

“But nothing happened, nothing terrible, and Anna’s fine, the house is fine.” Zachariah soothes.

“We should just announce that Castiel won’t be performing tonight.” Joshua cuts in.

“Oh, sure, you go ahead and make that announcement. They’ll tear this place to the ground.” Zachariah scoffs.

Dean’s jaw clenches. “Castiel’s well-being has to come before the happiness of his fans. We’re talking about a life in danger versus some fanatical tweens getting pissy! It’s not the end of the world if they can’t see their idol on stage.”

“Castiel?” Zachariah stares at the man as if mentally willing him to stay and sing, but Joshua just looks concerned, eyes darting from Dean to Castiel until the latter speaks.

"No. I can't just...I won't let this freak control my life and I certainly won't let myself get run off stage." His voice is resolute as he looks at Dean. He nods once, to steel himself, before pushing his way out of the room.

"Castiel!" Joshua calls, and they all go after him.

As Dean passes him, he slaps Cliff on the shoulder. "Showtime!"

The larger man nods, even barely having heard him over the din of the nightclub. He follows Castiel to the stage, but Dean takes a detour and snags Zachariah by his collar, shoving him against the nearest wall.

"Ho! Hey there, sport...look, if this is about the secrecy thing—"

"Shut up." Dean snarls, patience clearly at an end. "The next time you lie to Castiel about this shit, I'll knock your teeth out. And if you leak his location to the press again, I'll shoot you in the goddamn kneecaps."

Zachariah shakes his head. The crowd goes ballistic as Castiel steps onto the stage, and he speaks into the mic, but Dean can't hear him from here. It's all just a dull roar, and the publicist's sleazy response in front of him, which he barely hears.

"I know, the secrecy was a little bit of an oversight. I think we can use this to our advantage. If it gets out that Castiel is being relentlessly pursued by this stalker, the pity vote will clinch him the Oscar nom."

Dean's nostrils flare and his eyes widen in rage as he pulls Zachariah off the wall just to shove him right back into it. He hears the crowd quiet as Castiel begins singing. "One word. One fucking word to the press about this—"

"Fingers and toes next, I got it." The publicist cringes. "But you have to remember something, Dean. This is Castiel's livelihood. I know what you're saying. I know you want to protect him and I understand that you've got a job to do here. But you have to understand that _Castiel_ has a job to do too, out there. He's working, Dean. That's what he does. He's big right now; this is the time for him. If he doesn't get out there, he's dead. Forget about crazy death threats; if he doesn't sing, he's dead anyway." The older man stares at him pointedly. "Look, I know you aren't hot on the idea, but handled properly, this thing could be good for a million dollars' worth of free publicity.”

Dean just grips his shirt tighter, shoving him harder into the wall. "I think Cas would find life in solitude with his daughter a little more preferable to being a dead superstar. Don't cross me again. You put him in danger and I will personally take you out."

Dean doesn't wait for a response, just pulls off of the man and weaves his way around backstage to get to the front of the platform. Castiel is singing his hit song, _Clarity_ , which must be tough for him given the letter he just received alluding to the lyrics. He's lost in the music, though, and his fans are considerably calmer now with the soothing, slow song playing around them. He only notices under the stage lights that the black trenchcoat he’s still wearing has black rhinestones all along the collar that glitter brightly when the light hits them. It seems Castiel’s reputation for flashy costumes isn’t entirely untrue.

Dean finds a spot to stand near the front of the stage and scans the crowd vigilantly for any sign of the stalker, but it's dark and there are so many people, it's an all but impossible task. As Castiel holds his final note, the crowd erupts into cheers and it’s back to chaos again. The other security guards surrounding the audience and blocking the backstage area look like they’ve given up trying to keep everyone at bay.

“Thank you!” Castiel speaks into the mic, humble and a little breathless. “You like that one? You want to hear another?”

The crowd goes somehow wilder, and Castiel turns back to the DJ booth. “Can you hook me up? Let’s get these people dancing.”

The DJ nods, enthusiastically and the crowd cheers. They know which song is coming. Castiel rips away the trenchcoat, because of _course_ the buttons aren’t even real, revealing that the leather vest and pants he bought at the thrift shop the other day had undergone a makeover. They’re covered in studs and small wing details, a Castiel signature, which alluded to the meaning of his name as a Biblical angel. The crowd shrieks and the singer’s eyes catch Dean’s. He winks, offering a Cheshire-Cat grin as the music starts up and he struts across the stage.

 _For Your Entertainment_ , the song which accompanies Castiel’s first film, is even hotter in person. The singer proves he is a dancer, too, with sensual rolls of his body and jerking, robotic movements that complement each part of the song. On tour, he has back-up dancers, but tonight, it’s just him and the audience. The audience, of course, wants to be as much a part of it as they can, stretching their hands out desperately for even a single touch from their idol. Castiel can’t deny them and dances out onto the catwalk, sliding his palm over as many hands as he can, like a line of high-fives. The crowd shrieks, some of them are crying and professing their love, others are just jumping up and down in excitement.

Castiel is center-stage at the edge of the platform for the chorus and the audience worships him. He takes it all in like applause is his drug and he is an addict. On the opposite side of the stage from Dean, a fan tries to climb up, but he is yanked down by the security guard nearest him. Dean watches his post vigilantly, but his job is impossible with the trashing mass of bodies closing in toward the stage; more than he could possibly fight off.

For a moment, everything is bliss for Castiel. He feels empowered again. Thoughts of the stalker, a potential killer, it’s all gone as he sings and dances and watches the audience scream for him. He can sell millions of records and it will never make him as happy as he is just seeing the impact he has on people. He loves his fans, loves that they love him, he loves that they draw inspiration from him, because he draws inspiration from them in return.

But, as Dean always seems to be eager to remind him, sometimes they can love him too much. Castiel sinks to his knees and pushes his ass out as he rises, eyes smoldering across the audience. For someone, it’s a little too hot to handle. As he makes another pass to greet those closest to the stage, somewhere in the mass of hands, one latches onto his wrist and pulls. Castiel is sent careening into the audience with a yelp, into the arms of his adoring fans. He tries not to panic as they surf him deeper into the fray, glancing around for his security detail. The club’s guards are trying to get to him, as is Cliff, but he can’t see Dean.

Dean is circling the audience, finger pressed to his com as he talks to Adam. Once he’s sure the boy heard him, he rushes backstage. Castiel has started to panic; the mic has been ripped out of his hands and people are grabbing at his costume, ripping off one of his wrist cuffs, tearing out some of the studs…he can’t do anything to control his direction and he can’t fight back without fear of accidentally kicking an innocent bystander. The music is still going, sans vocals, as if the DJ doesn’t have the presence of mind to turn it off.

Dean grabs a fire extinguisher he’d spotted earlier and rips off the tab as he tries to force his way back out front. Realizing that’s impossible through the crush of people, he takes the steps up onto the stage and charges down the catwalk, spraying the foam into the audience. They scatter as intended and he’s able to jump off the platform. One guy, covered in foam, rushes him and Dean kicks him directly in the chest, sending him sprawling. Another man comes barreling toward him only to get punched in the jaw.

With half the audience splitting off, Castiel has been released in the chaos. He’s standing on his own now, barely by the look on his face, and the wide-eyed, fearful expression he gives Dean is all the bodyguard needs. He rushes forward and scoops Castiel up into his arms, forcing his way through the crowd. Cliff is just ahead of him and shoves a path, but Dean cuts off in another direction.

“This way!” Dean shouts, but Cliff ignorantly waves an arm.

“Just follow me!” He bellows, knocking a few people out of the way. He shoves his way out the front door only to find no limo in sight.

The rain has started and it’s pouring by the time Dean shoulders the side door open. Castiel’s arms are wrapped around him, his face tucked into the man’s neck. He starts shivering the moment the water hits them and he doesn’t stop, even as Dean clutches him tighter against his chest while Adam opens the limo door for them.

“Go, go!” Dean tells the boy once he has Castiel inside and the chauffeur scurries to get back into the driver’s seat as Dean slides in next to Castiel and shuts the door. He cranks the heat and sheds his jacket as Adam tears rubber out of the alleyway, nearly hitting Zachariah as he stumbled his way out of the club.

Adam doesn’t even ask if he should stop to let him in, just takes off around the corner, heading for home. Zachariah screams after them, waving his arms angrily. Dean is pretty sure he wants to adopt the kid or something.

The bodyguard, meanwhile, drops his jacket onto Castiel’s shoulders and wraps an arm around him, rubbing his biceps to try to get him warm. It’s not freezing out but the rain wasn’t exactly warm, either. He doesn’t need him going into shock. The singer’s breaths are ragged, his hair dripping and his eyeliner running. His eyes are crystal-clear blue as he stares at the floor and begins to sob into his hands. Dean just keeps rubbing at his back and arms, keeping him warm. Silent apathy would be concerning, but crying he’ll take any day. Castiel is scared, but he isn’t broken.

Still in the club, as Zachariah and Cliff try to convince Joshua to give them a ride back to Castiel’s, a figure lurks by the stage. What few lights are still on glint over something on the ground, and the figure goes to retrieve it. It’s one of the singer’s wrist-cuffs, silver-studded leather. The figure clutches it tightly and inhales the musky scent of real, aged leather and something that is distinctly _Castiel_. They take the cuff and shove it into their pocket, rushing off before anyone can see.

\- - -

The first thing Castiel does when he gets home is insist on checking in on Anna. She is fast asleep, snuggled under her massive covers and clutching a stuffed toy. He lets out a shaky breath and nods, moving toward his own room. He glances back at Dean, like he doesn’t know how to ask.

Dean just nods once, moving swiftly into the room. He clears it with one hand over his still-holstered gun, checking the closet, the windows and the balcony door before he beckons the other man inside. He complies, still uneasy on his feet as he makes his way to the bed. He’s trembling so badly that his fingers fumble on the zipper of his vest and he bites his lip, willing himself not to cry. Dean is in front of him instantly, wrapping him up in a protective hug. The singer clutches at his shirt, burying his face into his chest as his body is wracked with dry sobs. Dean holds him until he’s finished, then helps him out of his vest and the leather pants when he calms down. Castiel climbs under the sheets in just his boxers, melting into the soft comfort of his bed. Dean sits on the edge of the mattress for a moment, pulling the covers over the other man. The singer reaches out and takes Dean’s hand so he can’t leave yet.

“Aren’t you…going to ask me…why I do things like that?” Castiel questions, bright eyes staring up at his bodyguard.

Dean offers a melancholy look, brushing the man’s bangs out of his face. “I think I know why, Cas.”

He stays there until Castiel is asleep, snoring softly into the darkness of his room. He heads down to the kitchen to get himself a snack because he can’t possibly go to bed hopped up on adrenaline like he is. He sits at table in the massive kitchen, grabbing an apple and a small knife. He cuts off a slice and barely gets it down before a noise startles him. Cliff has barged in, soaking wet and _livid_.

He sees Dean and rushes at him, growling. Dean just sits there, waiting. As Cliff reaches out to grab him by his shirt, Dean sets the apple on the table and spins low out of his seat in a sweeping motion. Cliff's legs are knocked out from under him and he lands hard on the tile, sprawling out on his back. He finds himself looking up at Dean, who snags his chair and sets it over him before straddling it, leg strut pressed against Cliff's throat.

Dean looks down at him questioningly, asking him wordlessly if he’s done with his outburst.

Cliff scowls and nods. Dean lifts the chair away and Cliff scrambles to his feet. Dean shakes his head, turning away. Cliff throws a cheap punch at his head, missing as Dean ducks and moves in under it. He turns and his hand flashes out, punching Cliff twice with his free hand before grabbing him and throwing him against a cabinet across the room. Cliff is disoriented for a second, scrambling along the counter to get back his balance. He spots the knife caddy and snags the largest one, brandishing it threateningly.

Dean looks at him and snorts; he is done playing games. He flips the knife he's been using on the apple in his hand so he's holding it by the blade. With a fluid motion, he throws it at Cliff and it sticks in the wall an inch from Cliff's ear. Cliff slowly glances over at the knife and then lowers his own.

Dean picks up the apple from the table and takes a bite, swallowing before glancing at Cliff. “This conversation is over. We’re not gonna talk about this again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this chapter contained the iconic poster scene, I'm posting the art I photoshopped to resemble the poster on my Tumblr, thescarlettfangirl . I commissioned the piece from ArtsyUnderstudy and edited it to look like the poster. I track the tag 'Fic: The Bodyguard'

**Author's Note:**

> I am anticipating 5 chapters with the last being posted hopefully no later than Valentine's Day. Since I have the film to help me along, it's a lot quicker going than my more original plotty works.


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